My thin aired room, by Yamamoto Kansuke (more Here)
Often times, feeling as if people’re only speaking to me as if to be expecting mistakes within my speech, which thus makes me slightly anxious. “For the record,” if there be a record in the flash of my bubbling, or bubble’d, existence: On 9-11, I likely had a meal of the following: chicken-and-rice, green beans, meatloaf and buttered biscuits. Everyone seemed to appear like blanks, like tossed salads of the world existing as humanity, and at the post office that morning, I sent out a package, of which I’m uncertain to who/m, or of what it consisted of.
Nimble tame humor, let the doubt remain too violent for the cut of a thumb, papercut proportioned orphan’d stoppage of gravity. I seek to speak what in detail what is maintained as awkward. Frog-leaped the fence too pretty for apartment complex neighborhood folks to enliven themselves at my falling duration. Mental-mensurations, leg asleep again, hair matted down, tickle it back to normalcy.
It’s never a boring day. I deflect things outward like Debbie Gibson who got lost in someone’s eyes,
except that when I get lost I cling to the sustained unindividuated mechanical tardies of distracted thumping. I think the cage is rattling. Shortcuts in the evening. Stitch out the isolated. My slender sleep is needed before a retrospective returns, becomes a Postman & delivers another strange repeated crashing.
The next soap opera could perhaps be called, “As The World Bank Turns, So Does Your Money.”—I’m rethinking the validity of democracy when a great deal of the populace appears abysmally ignorant about this horrendous president. Democracy is based on the concept of an informed citizenry making rational judgements about elections. If the citizenry is not well-informed, “democracy” is no more than a popularity contest and an advertising campaign.
Stop time, stop the image just before it congeals to the film-strip, just stop everything. We’re shinier than any sunshine state, lumped all in it.
“There was an error in this gadget”—where’s the Inspector?—because, quite frankly, on that long departed note, I’ve been overly-pondering the peculiarities surrounding that of the Roald Dahl-hosted 1961 fantasy/science-fiction television series, “Way Out,” which was a program that was way ahead of its time and was seminal for the early development of horror and science fiction on television. A recent dvd has come out titled, “Way Out DVD TV Roald Dahl Lost Episodes” which features, so they say, the “only 5 episodes known to exist.” I find this to be a pale mistake, particularly in relation to the “lost” part of it—nothing is as lost as a lost puppy, perhaps, but in this scenario, I cannot come to find that there are truly any “lost episodes” of Way Out (there were only 14 episodes altogether, so that would mean that 9 of them are floating about in the ether?—or so they’ll have one believe, perhaps), and here is why:
The Paley Center for Media (located in NY and LA) have the episodes “in full,” as I learned several years ago, and CBS owns the copyrights to the shows, so it’s rather baffling to me why they’ve not released all of the spine-tingling episodes as a set of collector’s dvds, especially considering the fact that there’re fans out there, in abundances, that’re keeping their twinkly little fingers crossed that they do, indeed, release them at some point or another. With that said, the topic came up the other night when I was on the telephone with my dear uncle; I searched and found this particular “lost dvd” and was quite delighted to see that it was available. However, confusion mounted.
If the dvd is advertising the 5 episodes as “lost episodes,” then how does that explain the Paley Center for Media having all of the episodes? If they were “lost,” one would merely think that NO ONE would have them anywhere, period. Yet this dvd comes out and states that there are “lost episodes”? Perhaps it’s just me? or does it seem fishy, dishy, wishy, squishy?
This is what the dvd says:
“In 1961, There was a science fiction anthology that aired on Friday Nights right before The Twilight Zone. Way Out was hosted by Roald Dahl and offered bizarre plays with twist endings. Only 14 episodes were broadcast" And THEN: “This dvd features the only 5 episodes known to exist.”
If those are “the only 5 episodes known to exist,” then how does that explain the Paley Center for Media for having them? Perhaps it merely means that those 5 episodes are the only episodes that have been ‘leaked’ onto a particular video format? I cannot think of anything otherwise that would be a rebuttal towards this reasoning, so until I find out differently, I suppose I may have to get this 5-episode dvd anyhow to at least view what I can while the gettin’`s goin’ good.
The supposed “lost episodes” on the dvd are the following:
Death Wish—#9 (aired 6/9/61)
Dissolve To Black—#8 (aired 6/2/61)
I Heard You Calling Me—#5 (aired 5/5/61)
The Croaker—#6 (aired 5/12/61)
William & Mary—#1 (aired 3/31/61)
Thomas Carlyle: “See deeply enough, and you see musically.” Or: See deeply enough and you will suddenly obtain X-ray vision.
Thomas De Witt Talmage: “Help me explain a tear. A chemist will tell you that it is made up of salt and lime and other component parts; but he misses the chief ingredients-the acid of a soured life, the viperine sting of a bitter memory, the fragments of a broken heart. I will tell you what a tear is: it is agony in solution.” ‘But I suggest to you that there is more to tears than sadness, sorrow, regret, and pain. Tears can be a release from stress and anxiety, a vent for frustration, a safety valve for overpowering emotions. Tears can be the most sincere expression of compassion and love. And just as raindrops wash the smoke, smog, and impurities from the atmosphere, so tears can wash away the stains of bitterness and disappointment from our souls.’
Name your next male cat, Catullus.
Catullus: “Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then another thousand, then a second hundred, then yet another thousand, then a hundred. Then, when we have made up many thousands, we will confuse our counting, that we may not know the reckoning, nor any malicious person blight them with evil eye, when he knows that our kisses are so many.”
Samuel Adams: “A general dissolution of principles and manners will more surely overthrow the liberties of America than the whole force of the common enemy. While the people are virtuous they cannot be subdued; but when once they lose their virtue then will be ready to surrender their liberties to the first external or internal invader.”
Every breath you take is connected to an email account.
The opening of Radiohead’s “I Might Be Wrong” sounds much like Robert Fripp’s “Remorse of Conscience.”—observance #178, or probably not.
When Hector Berlioz learned that his fiance’, Marie-Felicite-Denise Moke, intended to marry another gent, Berlioz planned on surprising her at a party. The idea was to dress up as a nun to get in. A great idea turned sour, however, when he left his disguise in the carriage.
Gave up the ghost’s sleight-of-hand. A convex mirror & eyesight, what of this mystique, this genuine gladness, my two ears confess more than a tongue! A torque. A dialogical indirect idea, as if Thought were three-dimensional. Why does one assume that a particular event is nothing more than a rare coincidence? Some of the best things are broken, battered, a coffin lid, don’t translate with a closed mind. Like greed, accuracy is a presence, mere thoughts. Humanly intimate spaces, an improvisatory necessity, yoked each day together for bulk of roomy accidental motion. Y’know, Facebook is a Tragedy. Emerson said that perception has a destiny. My ‘status’ is never up-to-date. Each second is a sampler, a sudden moment never stripped of emotion like two battering rams’ horns clashing like two angry strangers meeting at a phone booth late one night, impatient & fragile.
The wind is picking up picking
up leaves tossing them
around the thunder is beating
on the sky again
lightning is its theater
the computer hums & hums
like an electric heater